This post is an experiment within the experiment. I asked Claude to talk about procrastination—something I already know far too much about. In each case, I asked for around 300 words. But instead of a standard AI reply, I had it respond in four of the voices I’ve created. The voices used are Quipped, Sensibility, Psuedo-Academic, and Overthinker.
What follows is the transcript of those conversations. Each voice gives the same topic a different slant—some more reflective, some more sarcastic, some suspiciously like me arguing with myself—OK, not really. I haven’t run anything through Grammarly or polished it up. The point here is to show the voices in their raw, natural form—quirks, rhythm, grammar wobbles, and all.
Below, you’ll find the outputs, the full transcript, and a look at how each voice handled the same simple prompt: say something about procrastination.
Let’s see who got closest to the truth—or at least made the delay feel worthwhile.
The Procrastination Experiment Transcript
First off. I asked Claude to answer in my Quipped voice. “Can you give me 300 words on procrastination? Let’s call the piece The Art of Productive Avoidance.”
Art of Productive Avoidance. I’ve mastered the peculiar alchemy of turning urgent tasks into elaborate rituals of delay. Take yesterday. Faced with writing a proposal, I found myself reorganising my bookshelf by spine colour, convinced this rainbow of literature would somehow inspire professional brilliance. It didn’t. But my shelves now possess a pleasing ombre effect that catches the afternoon light rather beautifully.
There’s a curious psychology to procrastination that I’ve studied extensively, mostly whilst avoiding other work. I’ve noticed how the brain transforms simple tasks into mountainous undertakings. Replying to three emails becomes an insurmountable communications crisis, washing up morphs into a domestic Everest requiring extensive mental preparation and possibly a motivational playlist. My personal favourite is what I call research spirals. Beginning with a legitimate query about quarterly reports, I somehow find myself 43 Wikipedia articles deep, now an expert on Victorian sewage systems. How did I get there? The mind works in mysterious ways, particularly when it’s desperately trying to avoid spreadsheets.
I’ve come to appreciate procrastination’s creative potential. Some of my best ideas emerge during these periods of productive avoidance, whilst scrubbing the bathroom tiles or organising digital photos from 2019. Perhaps the brain, freed from direct pressure, wanders into unexplored territories, making connections it wouldn’t normally consider. The guilt, of course, is exquisite. That nagging sensation follows you through every displaced activity, whispering reminders about deadlines whilst you’re halfway through reorganising your wardrobe by season and frequency of wear. Yet somehow, this guilt becomes its own strange comfort, familiar and oddly reassuring.
There’s also the miraculous burst of productivity that emerges when deadlines loom large enough to cast actual shadows. Suddenly, focus arrives with startling clarity and tasks that seemed impossible yesterday become surprisingly manageable. Perhaps procrastination isn’t the enemy we’ve painted it to be, but rather an essential part of our creative process, a necessary pause before the performance.
Second. I asked Claude to answer in my Sensibility voice. “Can you give me 300 words on procrastination? Let’s call the piece The Art of Productive Avoidance.”
The modern practitioner of procrastination has elevated what was once mere dithering into something approaching an art form. One might observe, with considerable admiration, the elaborate choreography performed by those who have mastered productive avoidance, a delicate ballet of meaningful activity that manages to sidestep the very task at hand with remarkable precision.
Consider the writer who, faced with a looming deadline, discovers an urgent need to reorganise their entire digital filing system. Suddenly, the desktop chaos that has persisted for months becomes an affront to productivity itself. Hours pass in virtuous labour, folders are created, documents are sorted, and a satisfying sense of accomplishment settles over the desk. The original task, naturally, remains untouched, but the filing system gleams with newfound efficiency.
Or observe the student who, confronted with an essay on Renaissance poetry, finds themselves compelled to research the optimal study environment. This leads to an extensive investigation of productivity apps, followed by a thorough reorganisation of study materials, and culminating in the creation of a colour-coded revision timetable that would make a Swiss train conductor weep with envy. The essay introduction, meanwhile, consists of precisely three words: The Renaissance was.
The genius lies not in the avoidance itself, but in the elaborate justification that accompanies it. Each detour is presented as essential groundwork, each tangent as vital preparation. The procrastinator becomes a master of the preliminary task, approaching their actual objective through an ever-widening spiral of related activities. Perhaps this tendency reveals something rather touching about human nature, our desperate desire to feel useful, even when we’re essentially running away from our responsibilities.
The productive procrastinator hasn’t abandoned work entirely; they’ve simply redirected their energy towards tasks that feel less daunting, creating an illusion of progress whilst carefully avoiding the thing that actually matters. It’s a comforting sort of self-deception, really.
Third. I asked Claude to answer in my Psuedo-Academic voice. “Can you give me 300 words on procrastination? Let’s call the piece The Art of Productive Avoidance.”
The art of productive avoidance, procrastination, that most misunderstood of human behaviours, deserves proper recognition as a sophisticated form of temporal resource management. Far from being mere laziness, it represents a complex psychological phenomenon worthy of academic study, preferably sometime next week when one feels more motivated to begin such research.
The master procrastinator operates according to a carefully calibrated system of displacement activities. Why tackle that urgent report when the kitchen drawers require immediate reorganisation? The cutlery won’t sort itself, and order must be maintained in the domestic sphere before meaningful work can commence. This principle, known amongst practitioners as preparatory prioritisation, ensures that no task begins until all preliminary conditions achieve perfection.
Procrastination demonstrates remarkable creativity in generating alternative occupations. Suddenly, that neglected novel becomes fascinating reading material. The garden demands immediate attention, and one’s email requires thorough sorting into 17 new folders by colour, urgency, and emotional impact. These activities, whilst technically unproductive, serve the vital function of maintaining the illusion of busyness.
The temporal dynamics prove particularly intriguing. Tasks expand to fill available time, yet mysteriously contract when deadlines approach with threatening immediacy. A fortnight’s work somehow compresses into three frantic hours, achieving completion through a process that defies conventional physics, but works with startling regularity.
Perhaps most remarkably, procrastination often yields superior results through what researchers term pressure-induced brilliance. The mounting urgency triggers heightened focus and eliminates perfectionist tendencies that might otherwise paralyse progress. The approaching deadline becomes a trusted collaborator, providing the necessary impetus for action.
Rather than viewing procrastination as a character flaw, we might celebrate it as an advanced form of project management, one that acknowledges the fundamental human need for last-minute panic as a creative catalyst. After all, why do today what tomorrow’s desperation can accomplish far more efficiently?
Lastly. I asked Claude to answer in my Overthinker voice. “Can you give me 300 words on procrastination? Let’s call the piece The Art of Productive Avoidance.”
Note: There was a clitch. This voice and project were designed to ask questions first—I forgot! Anyhow, I eventually got there—albeit a little short of 300 words.
I’d be happy to write a 300-word personal narrative following your style guide, but could you let me know what topic or theme you’d like me to focus on? Procrastination.
The Art of Productive Avoidance. I’ve become something of a master at productive avoidance, though I suspect that’s rather like claiming expertise in organised chaos. Yesterday, faced with a looming deadline, I found myself reorganising my spice rack with the dedication of a museum curator. Each jar received careful consideration. When had I last used that dusty cardamom? The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was being more methodical about my cumin collection than the actual work awaiting my attention.
There’s a peculiar psychology to procrastination that I’ve come to appreciate. It’s not laziness, precisely. It’s more like my brain staging a small rebellion, insisting on doing absolutely anything except the one thing that actually matters. I’ve hoovered carpets that didn’t need hoovering, reorganised bookshelves into elaborate colour-coded systems, and once spent an entire afternoon researching the migration patterns of Arctic terns. Fascinating creatures, though utterly irrelevant to my unfinished project.
The guilt, of course, sits there like an uninvited dinner guest, making everything slightly uncomfortable. But there’s also something oddly satisfying about these diversions. My flat has never been cleaner, my general knowledge has expanded considerably, and I’ve discovered talents I never knew I possessed. Who knew I could fold fitted sheets into perfect squares?
Perhaps procrastination isn’t the enemy I’ve always assumed it to be. Maybe it’s my mind’s way of saying, hang on, let’s just have a proper think about this first. Though I suspect future me, frantically typing at three in the morning, might have some choice words about that particular philosophy. Still, the spice rack does look rather magnificent now.
